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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487298">Cold Hands, Warm Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gonna_Fuck_Up_The_Romans/pseuds/Gonna_Fuck_Up_The_Romans'>Gonna_Fuck_Up_The_Romans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Medical, Call Rooms Are Not For That, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Grey's Anatomy, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Surgeons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:09:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gonna_Fuck_Up_The_Romans/pseuds/Gonna_Fuck_Up_The_Romans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey came to Coruscant Medical Center for a general surgery residency that would push her, drive her to her limit, and make her a better version of herself. Only hurdle is Ben fucking Solo.</p><p>First work, so my summary might suck? Any comments or tips appreciated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The metallic tang of adrenaline coats Rey’s tongue, her fingers reaching for that barely twitching slick flesh. Her hands dive through and clasp around her prize, jittering excitement bolting through her body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, c’mon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>c’mon</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she hisses quietly through her teeth, world falling away as she moves in sure motions, the slick coating on her hands squishing indelicately.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A pulse. Her breath quickens. And another. Not quite rhythmic, not quite right and it takes two more passes until--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We got ROSC!” Rey pops off the floor, the scrub pants soaked through with blood and a throbbing hunk of muscle in her palms. She can’t contain her smile and why should she? 46% of folks with penetrating trauma to the chest who tank in front of their eyes and get a thoracotomy survive to the OR. And sure, depending on who you ask, this kid has a better chance of getting into Harvard than getting out of this hospital. But right now, Rey’s promising herself that if this kid walks out of here, he’ll have a hell of a college essay. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her chief drapes a sterile towel over the rib spreaders, cross-clamped aorta, and her twitching hands, before clapping her on the shoulder and raising an eyebrow. Catching Poe’s drift -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her patient, her patient, this guy is all hers</span>
  </em>
  <span>--- she calls out, “Alright, let’s head to the OR, folks,” and kicks down the bed lock. Looking at the milling crew-- a nurse hanging another unit of whole blood, a medical student running to call the elevator, she catches sight of Solo. 6 feet and 2 inches of outright </span>
  <em>
    <span>glare. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A half and half blend of muscle and ego. He’s clenching his jaw like he’s trying to crack his molars and leaning on his fists at the head of the next bed, waiting for the next contestant in the world’s most literal game of Survivor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Rey doesn’t even try to wipe the pride off her face. She knows she got lucky, but she earned this case. </span><em><span>And</span></em> <em><span>he’s just mad to see such a slash and grab cut. Vascular isn’t made for trauma. Not made for surprises.</span></em><span> Keeping her clogs from slipping in the pool, they head out through the doors, leaving Ben’s tense face behind in the bay.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Ben Solo, otherwise known as He Who Shall Not Smile, Scourge of Medical Students and, her favorite, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- has not been the most friendly over the past 2 years.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matching here had been Rey's dream. Her top choice. The residents were hard working and welcoming, their board pass rate was securely in the top quartile, and their trauma division was well-staffed and well-used. And better than all that, more necessary than all that, their program arranged for heat/rut leave. Even with 1-2 days notice, with attending approval. Crucial for a truly integrated team, and in a lot of old-school programs, a beta-only culture was the rule. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey had to grit her teeth through more than one interview with a bland old man waxing nostalgic about the days when you knew a surgeon had “true control” without having flipped her packet past her omega designation. Had to smile through the resident socials without a single marked neck in sight. And then to come here and have </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dr. Organa, omega scent tempered but easy to pick out, welcome them to the program with Poe Dameron sitting in the back, his mark visible above the scrub line-- it was a dream come true. It all felt so natural, an undercurrent of normalcy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So when Poe and his husband Finn hosted the interns and residents at their home for drinks, she knew she might find some other non-betas for her intern year. She didn’t expect the only one to be an alpha. Coming in, his scent tasting like bourbon on her tongue. Rich, sweet, dizzying. Burning. Same as his eyes, staring at her with shock at the social. Frozen as she stood there, hand outstretched and her name on her lips.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I'm Rey. I'm guessing you're Ben, huh? Saw you on the roster for next year. I'm one of the other interns, so--” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” he said, his hand still wrapped around his drink, other hand clenched at the countertop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey waited a beat. Her hand drifted down to the plate of strawberries and--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You kno--” “I know you're the </span>
  <em>
    <span>omega</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had blinked and looked down, unfocused over his shirt before squinting up. You know, for an asshole, he didn't look half bad. Black hair brushing his jaw and a strong nose that had to take up most of a surgical mask, she’s sure. “Yeah. Yeah, and you're the alpha, huh. Astute. But I go by </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rey.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ben.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he twisted around her to stalk off to a 3rd year, clinking glasses and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck no. What kinda old boy shit is this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So standing in the elevator to the OR, hands comfortably resting among the ballooning lungs, feels pretty </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> good right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She makes it out of the OR 4 hours later walking on air and the trauma bay has reached a kind of lull. Of course, this means that paperwork is being worked through with a quiet, furious intensity in the workroom before someone new can come in. But her heart is light, humming along to the Arctic Monkeys coming over the speakers and putting in orders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Rey is painfully aware of Ben glancing at her hands, her wrists, as far up as he can before running into her jacket in between one line notes before settling back in, tense.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This is probably the closest they’ve been together since the incoming party last year. Day 2 of Solo showdown and other than a few exchanges, mostly yes or no on his part, they have been sitting, 1 foot away from each other. Typing. In that thick haze of constantly competing undercurrents that Rey once told Rose smells like, “biological warfare”. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Orders in for her guy in the STICU. Imaging on the little old biddie who bumped her head showed an acute on chronic subdural and after a neurosurgery consult, she stretches and hops up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m getting coffee. Want some?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” She rolls her eyes. God, man. Take a fucking cup of coffee. Might put him in a better mood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grunts, un-ladylike, un-Omegalike and wheels out of the back. By the time she heads back, he’s outside the door at one of the counters, flipping through outside records.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you mind if we talk?” He asks, jutting in front of her and almost causing her to spill her precious, precious coffee.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, peds room is open.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to check in,” Ben says, sliding the glass door closed, “I know that there’s a high chance of a stick and I just.” His hand lifts from his crossed arms before it grabs back at his forearm, working the muscle and giving a low hum. “I-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna know if I fucked up? Is that it?”, she interrupts, before taking another bracing sip of coffee. She's got a slight tremble under her skin. The room reeks of his anxiety and, oh now there's some </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage</span>
  </em>
  <span>? “I show you up and you can’t wrap your head around it? I saved my patient, I got the case and I didn’t even remotely screw it up. So what the fuck is your damage? Can’t stand to see an Omega doing it? Think I'm gonna hurt my widdle self?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is a second of frisson, Ben leaning his height over Rey’s frame, held ramrod straight. Trying to push her to bend or step back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nuh-uh, my friend. This isn't your frat house.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She's not playing this bullshit dick-measuring game. This kind of crap doesn't make him seem dangerous. It makes him </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But this scent, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> scent. Her head tilted and her jaw tipped up, neck ever so slightly bared. He had to smell her at this distance. Had to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not-- that. That was actually remarkably impressive.” Oh, that’s a surprise. She scrunches her brow at that. Oh, he’s still going, “No, it’s that it’s a dangerous, stupid procedure to risk yourself over when you know that guy is probably going to go out and just get shot </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span> after shooting up </span>
  <em>
    <span>meth </span>
  </em>
  <span>or some shit even if he does fucking live</span>
  <em>
    <span>-</span>
  </em>
  <span>“ Ben’s face is twisted up and he is halfway to snarling at her, slashing at the air with his hand. A face like that can look just so damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s so close now, she can feel the warmth of his body radiating against her cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey cuts him off with a lazy curve of her coffee to put some distance between them, before saying in her soft, low voice, heart racing, “You. Do not talk about my patient. Like that. And make no mistake, I want this. All of this. The blood, the mess, and yes, the risk. So don’t. Do the Alpha thing with me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And some little part of her, some treacherous little organ inside whispers that she desperately wishes he would.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thank you all for your patience! Very kind. I apologize for the wait and hope this will be alright. I know it is a bit of slow burn, but you really cannot blame me for this. Two surgical residents getting laid is a goddamn trial.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bagels at morning report were the fuel for the fire in Rey’s fingers. She’s typing frantically to get her notes done with her bagel held between her teeth, trying to get it to the side so she can actually listen to --</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyone?” Dr. Organa is sitting at the head of the conference table, holding a coffee mug like this is her darkened living room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And now Dr. Organa’s gaze had landed on her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking SHIT</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Rey quickly pulls the bagel from her mouth and drops it to the keyboard.The screen shows the chest x-ray of the guy from that high speed motor vehicle collision yesterday and, is she trying to ask about-- “Any association we should think of with this kind of fracture?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only fracture they could’ve seen on the chest x-ray would’ve been that massive honking scapula break. Like, seriously. Poor guy. He’s not gonna be throwing baseballs to his kid this season. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am, scapula fractures, especially ones in the body of the scapula like this, are associated with high speed blunt injury. Due to the significant force indicated--” Thank god, Dr. Organa is smiling at her, “we have to be concerned about blunt thoracic aortic injury.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Such as?” Dr. Organa sips her drink, eyes twinkling at her. Rey swears in her heart that, as afraid as she is of her, she would die for this badass. The first Omega trauma surgeon in the country is drinking a matcha latte in front of her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s a woman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dissection. Rupture and he’d have been dead before he got here.” That wins an actual smile from her before she tips her head back to the podium and turns back to her paperwork. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Poe, run ragged from the 36 trauma codes overnight that hit hardest in the morning, doesn’t even look relieved. The man looks like he’s trying to get through this without getting gunned down at the stand. Ben, now Hour 25 from the call shift from hell, doesn’t look much better as he pulls up the next patient’s imaging on the big screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rey takes a bite out of her bagel and swipes the crumbs off her computer when Rose bumps her elbow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude. He’s just like. Massive. Like. How does that chair even fit his body,” Rose whispers, a hairsbreadth from Rey’s ear. “How does his dick even-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut. Up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “ Rey hisses, earning a curious look from Dr. Holdo. She taps her nail on her computer screen and pulls up Whatsapp. As an anesthesia resident, Rose balanced her. Grounded her. And apparently potentially embarrassed her in front of her idols.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Rey</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I love you, but if you make Holdo and Organa think I’m ignoring ~patient care~ for some alpha’s knot, I will gut you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know how. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You know I know.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Rose</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, but you’re thinking it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>C’mon, you have to be thinking it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cut your hair last call shift because you were too “busy” for a salon. There is no way you are getting laid.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Rey</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true, but it hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Rose</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth always hurts, dude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in all seriousness like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isn’t your heat like. In a month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You could just. Bing bang bop. Secure that dick now. Put in a deposit.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Rey</b>
</p><p>
  <span>1. That is not how heats work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>2. He is an asshole. You know this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>3. He is a COWORKER.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>4. He doesn’t even find me attractive.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Rose</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s staring at you.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Rey snaps her head up to meet his warm, tired brown eyes, hair tied back into a manbun. A soft, weak part of her heart just melts at the sight, wanting to wrap him in warm OR blankets until he falls asleep, pulling her against him into that nest, their nest and--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rose nudges her again, this time with a look of supreme satisfaction and a waggle of her eyebrows. Ben’s staring at the CT images of someone’s massively wrecked liver and bouncing his leg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Probably trying to keep himself awake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rose sends Rey a gif of a train ramming into a tunnel that is far too small. Rey snaps her laptop shut with a grimace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>16 hours later and Rey is finally daring to sleep in the small cubby of call rooms for however long the trauma gods bless her with. Everything’s tucked away and no one has said the q-word all night during shift. Probably can get a good 15 minutes before an old lady falls. She throws blanket after blanket onto the freshly made bed, unloads her pockets, kicks off her clogs and crawls into the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>It smells like him.</span></em><span> The pillow, the mattress, something. It’s like that caramel bourbon scent just seeps out, cloying, and there are full </span><em><span>seconds </span></em><span>before she realizes she has been laying here, inhaling deeply and gently rubbing her cheek against the pillow as her thighs squeeze together, like warm honey is dripping straight through her gut to her clit</span> <span>-- when she freezes.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stupid,” she whispers to herself. “Stupid, stupid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> girl. You know how biology works. You know how fucking stupid that--- You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rey pulls herself up and grabs the pillow, chucking it at the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She resolves to get a dose of breakthrough blockers in the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s two days later and Rey’s morning adapted to her new routine by adding a blocker shot before her morning coffee. Looking down at her bruised belly, she sighs. She seriously cannot do a month of this. She’s too skinny for it, and the lack of food and the high physical intensity means that muscle and bone poke out of her skin more than usual. Rey’s gonna run out of room some time. Pinch, stick, wince, inject, pocket the needle and syringe for a sharps bin, refill coffee and head back to work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only halfway through the cup of coffee and already a page rolls in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Level 1, 52M MCC unhelmeted HR 128 BP 93/42 RR 40 SpO2 84% intubated</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey downs a gulp of coffee, slips off her jacket and swings her head over to Ben. He’s engaged in the same last second gearing up, with thinned lips and staring through the window while he clips in his trauma shears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your turn, yeah?”, she pipes up, logging out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. My turn, yeah,” he clears his throat while they speed walk to the main bay, “You got left side? The guy probably will need a chest tube. At least.” And he leaves it at that, shoulders tight and hunched while he takes his spot at the head of the gurney. A possible thoracotomy and he lays it in her hands. The feeling is dizzying and her skin is buzzing with excitement as she sets up the side table with gown, gloves, thoracotomy tray, and a 36 French chest tube. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alpha is happy, Alpha trusts you, Alpha wants you to do well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey feels the warmth run down her shoulders and fall down her back. A comforting boost rolls under her skin as she grabs a few prolene and silk sutures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's a moment of anticipation, where everyone stands at the ready, looking to the entryway. Ben is rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles and stretching his hands out. He won't have to intubate since some enterprising paramedic already secured the airway, but he still looks like he needs his hands full.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A minute passes and then Rey hears the doors to the ambulance bay open and a flurry of activity rolling through the hall. She straightens up and tucks her shears under the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy looks like shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blood caked over the left side of his face, with a sunken eye and cheek deformity, he is, both fortunately and unfortunately, not moving. Even from here, Rey can see his chest looks deformed on the left and his right arm has more bends than joints. Ben barks out that the airway is secure and cuts off the paramedic before he can get into the story, saying, "Let's get him over and listen to his lungs first, then tell me the story, c'mon let's get him over on three." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They drag him over on the backboard and Rey starts cutting off his shirt on the left side while Ben sneaks his stethoscope under the shirt collar. The rice crispy feeling of his skin under her fingertips prompts the call of, "We got crepitus on the left!" And Ben answers back, "And decreased breath sounds on the left, let's get a chest tube." Rey spins to the side to grab the betadine and dump it on the man's misshapen chest, all over the hazy tattoo of "Goazon Badlands" in gothic script. By the time she is gowned and gloved, knife in hand, the hubbub has gently fallen to the background. Cringing at the give of his broken ribs, she feels for just the right spot before cutting enough for her finger and tube to fit in. She wiggles her curved Kelly clamp in, pops it through like a champ and — “We lost pulse, starting compressions. Get me epi, bicarb and calcium now,” Ben’s voice cuts through, just as she was spreading the clamp with a gush of air and blood pouring past her fingers. “Extend it, crack the chest, Rey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands stutter for a second. This is blunt trauma, he knows the stats. They should run one round, call it if it comes to-- “Rey! C’mon!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so she slams the Kelly clamp down, grabs the scalpel back and extends the incision up to the sternum. It is surprising, really, how easy it is to split open someone’s chest, even needing to pause for the person doing compressions to pull back.. One run of the heavy scissors along the edge of the rib and she is fitting the rib spreaders in. There is a moderate commotion going on over her, an argument and as she cranks the rib spreaders in, she hears Dr. Holdo, gently but firmly, telling him, “You give this 5 minutes, Ben. Let the med students get a feel. But this? This is educational now. No need to crack this chest in the next guy, not like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she can feel the tension snap into him with each crank of the rib spreaders. She feels back, clamps the aorta to try to push all blood flow to the brain, the heart. But there is a sick taste in her mouth, this time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She talks in low tones to the med student to her left, shows them how there is bleeding in sharp gashes all over the left lung and the pericardium is loose, not tight and distended. His heart is still fluttering, uncoordinated. Unable to pull any blood through the body, but still twitching, lost. She takes a feel of his heart, gives a few full compressions. Ben pushes the endotracheal tube further in, lodging it in the right lung so the left lung deflates slightly. Rey picks up the cue, using the heavy curved scissors to cut through the inferior ligament and flip the lung over itself. She's read about it and, while her hands feel ungainly, she is surprised by how quickly she is able to flip the wet, slippery pillow over itself in its bed of blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey coaches the med student through intrathoracic compressions while she takes a suture and starts to carefully work in and stitch in compression sutures over the gashes. Four stitches in, Ben calls it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Time of death: 6:42.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s hand stutters in her next draw-through at the frustration, the anger that is rolling off him. He pushes off from the head of the bed, snapping to the nurse documenting, “I got shit to do, if we’re done wasting time here,” and slams the sliding door just a little more out of his way. Rey walks the med student through tying the stitch, putting away the sharps and gently pulling up the blankets. She knows she can’t take anything out at this point, has to leave everything in place for any autopsy. But she can at least tuck him in before his family has to see him. If any family comes to see him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slips through the bundle of staff and finds Ben pacing in one of the side rooms, yelling to himself in a way she’s sure he thinks is muttering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid. Didn’t even give him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>chance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We were already there! Such fucking-- Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben stops stone-still at the far wall, having turned just in time to see Rey closing the door and pulling the curtain behind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have something to do? I’m fine in here. Just give me five minutes, Rey. The note can fucking wait.” The red in his cheeks is fading gently and he pulls his scrub cap off, letting some of the strands from his top knot trail against his cheekbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me help,” she murmurs, hands outspread at her sides. When Ben’s brow crinkles, she looks around to find a chair, picking it up and pulling its back against a gurney.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Help with the note? I’m not a child. Just because I’m a little pissed off--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re mega-pissed, right now. You’re all riled up. You’re going to be completely useless for the rest of the day, thinking about this. So lemme just help calm you down, right? If the scrub techs and the RTs and the fucking janitor is going to whisper about us working together-- about Alphas and Omegas working together-- Why don’t we use it to our advantage, hm?” Rey kicks off her shoes and crawls onto the gurney, to sit on it cross-legged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, because she can see the way his eyebrows lift and smell the uptick in his pheromones, feel how her pulse rises in a way that was distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to plan, she clarifies, “Please. Just sit, Alpha. Let me take care of you. I swear, it won’t be anything sexual. But if you need comforting so you can get back to work-- Isn’t it just more efficient? Isn’t it a faster way for you to get back to normal than pacing and growling?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although this is definitely not a normal day. And the way Ben’s eyes slid down her body before skittering to the side is definitely, definitely not normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He settles into the chair unsteadily, keeping his scrub cap clenched atop his lap. “Is this, uh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine,” she hushes, tucking her legs against his sides, toes barely scraping the edges of the chair’s seat. His warmth seeps through the thin fabric of her scrub pants, and yet she shivers at it. Ben’s breath catches when she pulls the tie out of his hair, letting the rest of it spill out against her fingers. And it is-- softer than she imagined. She figured he was rich from the never-ending Patagonias and leather call bag, but this man must be using stem-cell infused conditioner or something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A gentle carding of her fingers through his hair yields a soft growl, Ben’s chin tilting up and back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry, did I get--,” she stumbles, pulling her hand back only to have it pushed tightly down, his hand cupping over hers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s nice. Please, go ahead. Sorry,” he ducks his head back down, letting her fingers roam over his scalp and press firm circles into his skin. His breath shudders, then slows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sit like that for five minutes, Rey softly working her way through his hair and feeling the tension seep from his body settling against her calves, before she speaks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she murmurs, breath brushing against his neck</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s eyes flutter open and, god how does one even grow eyelashes that long, he tips his head to the side and cocks an eyebrow. “Thank you? From the goddess of fire, blood and chaos. For making you look good, is that it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, there’s the venom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you complete </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For letting me help. For trusting me. We made a good team in there, you know?” Her hand runs along the nape of his neck, floating far too close to his mating gland. Dangerously close. She sweeps her hand back to the bed as if burned and peels her legs off of his sides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We work together well,” Ben begrudgingly agrees, standing quickly and shaking his hair out before starting to gather it in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey scoots the chair out and stands, moving to put it away before asking, “Did it work, though? You feel a bit better?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben tucks his chin, tying his scrub cap on. “Yeah. Yeah, I don’t feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>useless,” he teases, before giving a sly smile. “Nice trick, Omega. Maybe there </span>
  <span>are</span>
  <span><em> some</em> advantages to working with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She absolutely cannot tell Rose about this. Or Rey will never survive the teasing.</span>
</p>
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